dream prototype pt.2

I had previously heard that former President Bush was an idiot. I certainly did not find comfort in many of his practices and policies that were practiced during his regime. However, I, like many Americans had given former President Bush the benefit of the doubt and assumed that he was simply a malicious asshole that was out to undermined the very foundations upon which our great republic stood. But the Former President exhibited a childlike demeanor. He looked very uncomfortable, like a child expected to behave in as saintly a manner as everyone else while sitting through a religious lecture. His curiosity and exuberance being stifled under protocol and routine. He slouched and fidgeted. His eyes wandered only to snap back dead center in Pavlovian response to any perceived attention paid to him by his handlers.

I was confused. I was witnessing first hand the truth behind the man. The innocence in his eyes immediately obliterated the image of the industrialist war hawk so many have cursed, feared and idolized. My mind percolated with the new information. My perception of reality shifted, adjusted, realigned, reconfigured, re calibrated. I was at a loss for further synonyms. The system had allowed a disabled man reach the highest seat of office. The system worked. We lived in a country were any man can become anything his heart desired with enough tenacity, grit and political connections. This was the undisputed, empirical proof that America was truly the land of opportunity. I was both inspired beyond words and blind with rage. I didn't hear Mr. Smith call my name as he brought me the sign up sheet for the race.

"You'll be on George's team. Good luck," he says in an almost playful manner.

My heart sank. I realized why this upper crust clan would invite a total stranger into their house to participate in their annual family fun fair. No one wanted to be on Former President Bush's team.

dream prototype pt.1

She had blond hair, a long, lanky body with a full, perky chest, and a modest pillow butt. Her bright yellow ninja turtles t-shirt just too small to be appropriate outside of a skin flick and her cottony thighs framed snugly between bright red bike cut-offs and rainbow bright leggings. Her face was just slightly too long to be conventionally cute and her horn rimmed glasses accentuated her subtlety crooked nose. She was like some Internet themed hipster Aphrodite.

Kinda like that, but blonde

Story Telling 101, Week 2

"It's always been the same. People you don't know making stupid decisions that ruin every one's life but they're own. They don't care about canceling a show, or cutting the work force after a project ends. They have to come out on top. They work for themselves, which is exactly what you all need to do. Work for yourself, get what you need, produce and publish your own ideas. The industry is not your friend. It won't take care of you in the bad times. it wont keep your secrets. Don't act like it's your Friend. Take advantage of it. You're not lucky to be in it, it needs you because you have the talent to do what they can't do themselves. Now, when you think about that, think about this; Who's going to make your show if you're busy making theirs.
what's that in the back, a question? How will you finance your own film? Man, what the fuck do I look like, an accountant? Figure it out.
Alright, I want to see your story boards next week, and don't be late we're starting right at 1:20."